“A home isn’t only defined by what you need, Bram. It’s also about the people who need you.”

“Thorne looked to the woolly beast at his [Bram's] knee and and cocked a brow. "You seem to have acquired a lamb, my lord.""The lamb goes home tomorrow.""And if he doesn't?""He's dinner.”

“We have to get out of here, Bram. Before they take our bollocks and use them for pincushions.”

“What on earth are you wearing? Did you take orders in a convent since we spoke last? Little Sisters of the Drab and Homely.”

“This isn't food." Bram picked up a lavender-iced cake between thumb and finger and stared at it. "This is...edible ornamentation.”

“The Blushing Pansy," his cousin read aloud, in a tone of abject horror. "Tea shop and confectionery."Bram swore. This was going to be ugly.”

“this native people he lived with, deep in the jungle—their language had dozens of words for rain. Because it was so common to them, you see. Where they lived, it rained almost constantly. Several times a day. So they had words for light rain, and heavy rain, and pounding rain. Something like eighteen different terms for storms, and a whole classification system for mist.” “Why are you telling me this?” His touch skimmed idly down her arm. “Because I’m standing here, wanting to give you a fitting compliment, but my paltry vocabulary fails me. I think what I need is a scientific excursion. I need to venture deep into some jungle where beauty takes the place of rain. Where loveliness itself falls from the sky at regular intervals. Dots every surface, saturates the ground, hangs like vapor in the air. Because the way you look, right now . . .” His gaze caught hers in the reflection. “They’d have a word for it there.”